Teach Me How to Jerk
by Mug of Doodles
Summary: While the girl's are out of town Angel, Mo and 'Coy spend their time relaxing. MacCoy lets it spill that he's a virgin and the other two seek to resolve this. Mentions of weed, like everywhere. AngeMoCoy Multi-chaptered fic.
1. Chapter 1

**This is so retarded.  
>So, I guess Oblio took everyones girlfriends on a cruise or something so thats why theyre not there. lmao. Can you imagine? Im just kidding.<br>Idk how they got this stuff. I guess 'Coy's Grammaw has some for 'pain'. She sooo gets down with it. Or Ange and Mo have connections. lol Hopefully, there arent a shitload of typos.**

**Anyways, don't do drugs. I'm sur-ee-us. Terminology and the arguments on weed are so ridiculous. **

**Oh, and I dont own these three homies. Harmonix does, yo.**

The three male stars of Dance Central were sprawled out on Angel's rather large plush and cushy leather sofa. Usually sharply dressed, the dapper salsa dancer lounged in a pair of pajama bottoms, propped up against the armrest, patiently waiting his turn and eyeing Mo. Mo sagged into the cushions on the opposite end of the Latino with his legs strewn across MacCoy's lap while his fingers pinched a thick, white paper rod. He smirked, and with half-lidded eyes he slowly, teasingly raised it to his lips.  
>His cheeks barely sucked in and he let the smoke dance around in his lungs before blowing out through his nostrils. MacCoy watched in sluggish amazement and the Puerto Rican to the blond's right was determined to one-up the other. Angel flicked up his hand, lazily signaling that he wanted a go again and Mo shook his head, baiting him by wagging the joint back and forth at him. Grunting half-heartedly, too deep in unnatural euphoria to become upset, he managed to sit up fully while Mo held it out to him.<p>

MacCoy was sinking into the cushions too, thoroughly enjoying himself. He'd never felt so relaxed in his life. His head was tossed back, ass making a temporary indent in the sofa while he slouched with his arms laying practically dead and useless at his sides. He felt a heavy weight shift beside him and knew it was Angel when the weight vanished away from him, back to the other side. He tilted his head to observe the smooth Latino.  
>A quick wink from the tanned man made his heart thud noisily, working harder than the trio of males were, and he stared with heated cheeks as he studied the way Angel leisurely wrapped his lips around the joint. Taking a deep breath, then pausing, Angel exhaled a small ring of smoke in the blond's direction, nothing extravagant but impressive to the easy-to-please Russian nontheless.<p>

MacCoy licked his lips in anticipation, he didn't want the paper to stick like last time and noted that his mouth was awfully dry. Fully relaxed, the dapper Latino offered it up to the usually rowdy toprocker. The blond Russian lifted his hand eagerly and Angel glanced away for a second, looking as if he was contemplating his next move. He shifted over towards 'Coy, pulling his chin down with his index and thumb, before moving the last bit from his lips and placing it between MacCoy's. Squinting at Angel, mind in a haze but still suspicious, he nodded in appreciation while wiping at his blush.

Mo growled at Angel, nearly sobering up entirely and souring his mood, and kicked at the sneaky dancer with his foot. A pink sock clad foot connected with Angel's elbow, effectively smacking it up, causing him to poke himself in the eye while pearly whites gleamed in satisfaction. A normally ringed hand smacked his feet off 'Coy's lap and both glared at each other, hearing a long, drawn-out groan. Angel and Mo froze, turning their pretty mugs to stare wide-eyed at the stylehead; whose head was thrown back, pallid flesh of his arched neck fully exposed. Billows of smoke crept from his pursed lips and floated up, while his mouth curled sharply at the corners, " This feels _so_ fuckin' good you guys. Best feeling ever."

Mo and Angel overexaggerated, turning the normal scene into something semi-erotic. Golden and amber eyes locked, then excited gold's flicked over to 'Coy, who was busy taking another drag, for a moment before resting on the wary downrocker's visage again.  
>Angel's playful smirk turned devilish, waching the ember glow burn down to a stub, nearly burning MacCoy's fingertips, "You obviously never had sex, <em>pollocito<em>."

MacCoy coughed, swallowing the smoke and beating on his chest in an attempt to burp himself, "What?" His voice rose a bit higher than usual and Mo picked up the dead roach the flustered Russian dropped on the floor and placed it in someone's empty can of soda.  
>Angel chuckled, his accent thicker, his tongue seeming to stick to the roof of his mouth, words slowly oozing out, "If <em>this<em> is the best feeling you've ever had then you've never had sex, _obviamente_."

The embarrassed Russian stared at his hands, "Whatever."  
>Mo shot heavy glares at the sly Latino, "Angel, quit messin' wit' 'im, homes."<br>The smooth talker tilted his head back, studying Mo for a moment before almost reluctantly flicking his eyes and jerking his head slightly at the red-faced dancer. Catching the signals, Mo relented, desperate to touch the toprocker.

"Ya mean ya haven't hit a homerun with Emilia?" Mo teased lightly.  
>MacCoy gaped at him increduously, "Yer on his side too?"<br>Mo swallowed his guilt, almost literally, his hormones were hard at work, raging.  
>Ignoring 'Coy, Angel spoke to grab his attention, "If you're so good at sports, how come ya can't score?"<br>"Because, Emilia's put him in the dug-out." Mo joked.  
>"So, how many times have you struck out, hm?" Angel inquired.<p>

His mellow attitude began changing course for something worse, MacCoy was pissed off; he was pissed off because they were teasing him about something that _wasn't any of their business_, pissed off because his best friend was _siding with a jerk_, and pissed off because he _wasn't even on the baseball team_.  
>He lowly growled out a, "Go fuck yerselves and yer stupid baseball jokes."<br>Angel exploded into uproarious laughter and Mo joined in, though softer.

Calming himself, Mo looked at MacCoy pleadingly, the effects of the weed apparent in his glossy eyes and attitude, "We're jus' joshin', 'Coy."  
>MacCoy glared at them and looked at Mo's reassuring face and supposed that he should simmer down a bit. The musky scents of their breath reminding him of why they were all here in the first place, to relax. Their laughter, coming and going in obnoxious bursts, died out along with 'Coy's brief rage, though he was still slightly miffed.<p>

Mo broke the odd silence, busying himself by rolling up another one, his tone more solemn, "Ya can't tell me a guy like _you_ hasn't had sex yet."  
>Sapphire orbs drifted over to meet Mo's gaze, finding an intense stare and a pink muscle gliding across paper before nimble fingers worked the paper together tightly. This one was fatter than the one Angel rolled.<br>The blushing stylehead wasn't sure if his face was capable of burning any hotter or turning even redder but it did at the sight of Mo. He was unsure if he should tell Mo the truth, even if he was far more trustworthy than the other. It wouldn't be private though, with the nosy Latino scooching closer. His face scrunched up into a frowning sort of pout when he to turned to see where Angel was, thankfully he wasn't pressed up against him but still close.

MacCoy bit his bottom lip, pulling the the B-boy closer by his grey shirt, and whispered into his ear, "Nah. I've never had sex." The two were still close together, pale hands gripping the thin fabric of the shirt tightly, and Mo's ear twitched, his cheeks heating up. Mo almost gathered the courage to kiss him on the spot, or mutter something, anything remotely hinting at how he felt about the other, but Angel cleared his throat and piped in. Apparently he had still heard, he was only seated a couple inches away and MacCoy was the worst whisperer ever.  
>"Now, why is that?"<p>

MacCoy jerked, releasing his tight hold on Mo, and scooched closer to his friend, away from the invading Puerto Rican. Feeling safer next to the darker male, but still uneasy by the fact that the other two males would continue smothering him with questions and heat. He knew they wouldnt leave him be until he told them everything personal about himself, so he opened up.  
>"It doesn't leave this room." he warned.<br>"Yea, man. Ya can trust me."  
>He pivoted his head to the V.I.P. behind him, who simply shrugged.<br>"I just don't know...I don't know how ta get that funky mojo flowin'."  
>Angel snorted and Mo stifled a choked chuckle. "First off, gringito, never use nerdy shit like that in the bedroom." And Mo, damned if he didn't try to, laughed in agreement.<p>

Mo lit up, pausing their conversation and took a lung-popping drag, leaning towards MacCoy and blowing a river of smoke on his cheek. Smoke curled on its own accord under his jaw, gliding past his ear and invading his nostrils. MacCoy shuddered as a chill rode his spine, the warmth of the strong musk making his head spin.  
>"Yea, man. I'll show ya all the sweet spots."<p>

Perfect brows shot up in mild surprise and slight amusement, never expecting Mo to make such a bold move, he scanned their faces, noting 'Coy's intense blush and the blatant lust in Mo's eyes. Angel leaned forward to grab the joint from the downrocker, naked chest purposely brushing against the blond's bare arm.  
>"Sorry, mijito," Angel lied, reaching up to grab his prize from Mo, who surprised them both by tenderly placing it between Angel's lips.<br>A curious brow arched, accompanied by a smirk, and Angel's lips seemed to linger on Mo's fingers before he slowly backed away, muttering a quick 'thank you'. Mo scoffed under his breath, turning his attention back to MacCoy, who was squirming and confused about the whole ordeal occuring over his lap.

"Guys?"  
>The sound of MacCoy's anxious voice snapped Angel out of his unexpected daze, "We didn't forget about you."<br>Now he was even more confused and was starting to become agitated, this was getting old _very_ fast. Angel took a quick drag and exhaled, sensing MacCoy's impatience.  
>He feared losing his attention entirely so he said something to regain it. "Always keep eye contact."<br>Pulling his chin to face him and meet his gaze, MacCoy nodded, unsure if the two were going to teach him something he didn't already know.

Mo pressed up closer to the Russian, "She's prolly real nervous, so ya always wanna touch her somehow. Light strokes and shit on her arms or somethin'." Mo's palm cradled his elbow, hand creeping up before smoothing back down.  
>He continued light caresses as he paused to speak, "Get her used to ya," then his fingers danced over freckled shoulders, snaking their way under the strap of his blue tanktop and rubbing circles there.<br>"R-right," MacCoy stuttered, attempting to scooch away from his friend's odd behavior, only to have Angel squeeze against him, sandwiching him.

"He's right, _pollocito_." Angel confirmed. "Once you give her the benefit of the doubt, she'll let you do anything you want to her." MacCoy chewed on his lip, wanting to learn more but felt extremely uncomfortable sitting there with his guy friends getting too chummy with him. Angel gingerly lifted his hand and played with his fingers before encasing his palm and twining their fingers together. The Puerto Rican exhaled smoke on his neck, placed the joint back into the dancer's mouth then kissed each pale knuckle. MacCoy tried tugging his hand away in his lethargic state but the persistent Latino was still stronger and clutched his hand tighter.

MacCoy whined and gawked at his friend for help, but the darker B-boy smiled sweetly and kissed his wrist. The freckled male felt his insides squirm and then totally flop when Mo's touches traveled down his back and over his thigh, tracing imaginary shapes and patterns with his fingertips. MacCoy closed his eyes briefly, joint dangling idly on his lips, as he tried to shake off the fiery trails Mo created across his skin.

Angel snickered, thumb swiping back and forth over the goggled teen's hand, "Why do you look like you're in pain?"

Mo immediately halted his ministrations and muttered out a dejected, "Angel, he don't like it."  
>The hoodied dancer felt his confidence falling, spiraling down fast until MacCoy made a small noise, his voice struggling to crawl from his dry throat.<br>Making a smacking sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth he mumbled out, "I just need some water," he paused, mulling the decision over in his head, "Then you guys can show me what I need to know."


	2. Chapter 2

**ALL MY WORKS JUST DON'T FLOW ANYMORE. HERE, JUST FUCKING HAVE IT.  
>NOT SURE IF FANFICS GOT WORSE<br>OR WERE TERRIBAD TO BEGIN WITH  
>THIS IS SUPER OLD BTW. I JUST. WAT. SO MUCH OOC. JUST.<strong>

**Theres also a hilarious play on words in this. Free porn if you guess what it is.**

**Headcanon Mo is so not suave.**

**DISCLAIMER: I WANNA HUG MATT BOCH. I DON'T OWN DANCE CENTRAL BLAH. THERE.**

MacCoy made a beeline straight for the kitchen, his face still burning from his friends' advances; he'd rushed out of the living room so quickly that the white swinging door was still clacking behind him. He paced around the tiled floor, back and forth—around the island in the center of the room, then in front of the fridge. Rose-tinted ears could faintly pick up on deep voices in the other room which were mostly echoes of the voices reverberating through the walls that sounded more like rolling grumbles than anything.

Grabbing a clear glass from the oaken cabinets, he padded back to the fridge for some ice water, his head thumped against the metal door as ice met glass in pretty clinks and cold water slowly streamed out. MacCoy nearly died in anticipation; it looked so fucking beautiful. The blond released a desperate sigh, he _reallyreallyreally_ needed this water.

His mouth turned rigid and eyes remained over-sensitive. The toprocker ran a shaky palm through his hair and tried to clear his mind of his two friends rubbing against him and conquering his senses. Part of the Russian fought the feelings but a more inquisitive side that MacCoy wasn't aware he possessed told him to give in—have fun and learn a thing or two while he still could. This was a pretty good opportunity when he began considering his lack of experience.

Unexpectedly anxious to absorb extra information from his coworkers, he delved into a fantasy. He wondered how flexible his girlfriend was, how far back she could bend, or if he could sling her legs over his shoulders. His eyes now closed, he imagined her guarded features softening into pleased expressions as she moaned his name while her thick eyelashes fluttered spastically. He bit his lip, unconsciously gripping the glass tighter, while bucking his hips a little.

Cold water spilled over his hands, shocking him out of his fantasy and he drank the whole thing in a couple gulps—a testament to the effects of the drugs. His thirst was still not quenched, however, and he frowned because his brain was telling him he was hungry while his full belly was telling him he wasn't. MacCoy decided to make more snacks.

The crew had managed to eat the last three bags of chips, a bucket of gummy worms and half a mini-fridge of stocked sodas. Angel claimed to hate sweets, preferring savory foods, but always kept an excess amount on hand for the two guys that frequented his apartment and practically ate everything in his cabinets.

The DJ was fighting with himself on whether or not he should go back out _there_, purposely biding his time, thinking that maybe he could get away with baking cupcakes to soothe his nerves and blame it on the 'munchies'. Then again, he guessed Angel would undoubtedly prance into the kitchen after too long, with Mo in tow, teasing and flirting while Mo served as eager back-up. The toprocker's mind could hardly wrap around the concept of Mo flirting with him—it was expected from Angel, but not his best bro.

Then the looks Mo showered him with suddenly made sense; like when Mo would stare a little too long when he finished his showers in the locker room or how his arm always had to press against his on the armrests at the movies. MacCoy touched his forehead to the dripping glass, his face growing too hot, and groaned. Life was so _weird_, though he was surprisingly _okay_ with it. The drugs mellowed out the effects of what would have happened if he wasn't high.

Okay, _maybe_ he'd just talk it out with them a bit. It was _probably_ the drugs making them so creepy and touchy. He dismissed the idea of running away, his over inflated ego not allowing him to be a coward, and figured popcorn would be easier and less messy to make. Tossing the bag into the microwave, he simply stood there while his mind instantly conjured up an image of his Grammaw yelling at him about radiation. The thought of his family finding out what he was doing caused shame to wash over him before he moved away from the screen of the device. She'd be _sooo_ disappointed in her Buttercup.

**AngeMoCoyPlz**

Mo fidgeted with his zipper, pulling it up and down, the odd noise comforting him until Angel stopped him with a hand and tossed him a pointed look.  
>As if to explain his actions, "He's been in there a while, Ange. I don't think he's comin' back"<br>"He's not goin' anywhere," Angel replied, chuckling lightly, not to mock the other but to help ease the tension. He almost found it impossible to stop. "He's comin' back. Take your hoodie off already. You don't need it."  
>"I'm nervous," Mo explained, his fingers scrambling to yank up his pink socks more. He was hiding beneath his security blanket again.<br>Sympathy twisted brown eyebrows, "You don't need to be."

Angel pressed a kiss to his cheek, slowly moving Mo's arm to guide a dark hand away from his socks, "If you want this, you'll _trust_ me."  
>Mo twiddled with his drawstrings, nodding slowly. Tanned hands pried the abused cords away and deft fingers found Mo's zipper and pulled down, "Now take it off."<br>Mo obeyed, slipping it halfway off his shoulders, uncovering his grey shirt again and peered at the Puerto Rican with uncertainty before the other male sighed, removing the rest for him.

"I wish I had yo' confidence," Mo admitted.  
>The smooth Latino smirked as he gripped Mo's hands. His soft hands roamed over calloused ones, fingertips tracing the lines in his palms.<br>"You work too much," Angel let his thoughts slip, purposely, for the sake of speaking.  
>Bringing the hand up to his cheek and nuzzling it, he kissed a few fingertips,<br>" I'm sorry, _conejito_. I miss us." Mo opened his mouth to speak but Angel swiftly scooted away from the downrocker after placing a quick kiss to the center of his palm again. Mo offered him a questioning look.

"_He's coming."_

MacCoy tumbled in with a large bowl of buttery popcorn, a case of cream soda (which only he was fond of), and a box of snack cakes. Finding his balance, along with the amused stares of his peers, he shifted awkwardly on his feet. "You guys hungry?"  
>The two on the couch began snickering and MacCoy frowned, plopping down on the couch among them and dumping their snackage on the ground sandwiched between his feet. "Stop teasin' me, homies."<p>

MacCoy absently ate away at the supply, males on either side of him enraptured by the display. Angel made a face behind MacCoy, who was leaning on the bowl with his elbows, and Mo rolled his eyes in response.  
>"Learn to hold her attention" Angel spoke softly, saddling up closely to the other again, but this time when the DJ scooted over towards Mo, Angel didn't follow.<br>"Wait, what? How?" MacCoy asked, voice muffled by popcorn.  
>Angel chuckled darkly into his ear before effortlessly picking his hand up and sliding a couple fingers into his mouth, eyes closing. MacCoy's index left his mouth with a light pop before Angel worked the other into his mouth, his blue eyes hypnotized by the display while his thumb rubbed more friction onto the dips in Angel's cheeks.<p>

Finally gathering enough courage, Mo crept up behind him pressing his lips behind his ear. MacCoy whimpered, his head dipping low in embarrassment. "Guys?"  
>Both hummed in response, Mo's fingers traveled across MacCoy's shirt in curiosity while Angel trailed the blonde's ring finger over his lip before taking it into his mouth.<br>"Stop," it came out as barely a whisper and Mo hesitated until Angel let loose a low moan, peeking out from under thick eyelashes ,"He doesn't want us to stop; do you, _pollocito_?"

"Teach me somethin' else," he breathed.  
>"Aight, then," a confident edge could be heard in the trickster's voice as he swung a leg over his lap. The scout straddled his hips with newfound self-assurance that increased when he pushed his lips to the blonde's while enthusiastic fingers combed golden locks. Already shallow breaths hitched in MacCoy's throat and he pushed at Mo's thighs—which only squeezed together tighter while a silky tongue swiped at a buttery lower lip.<br>The agitated toprocker jerked his head back; the other B-boy insistently working his lips against the other, nibbling and savoring the salty, buttery flavor. Hesitant arms slung loosely around Mo's back before MacCoy moaned and Mo snuck his tongue in, batting with the blonde's playfully. His tongue swiped behind two front teeth before Mo pulled back slightly, placing light pecks on the blushing blonde's swollen lips.

"Mo, what was that?"  
>Yo' third lesson, kiss her like ya mean it."<br>MacCoy stared past Mo's shoulder in an attempt to avoid the look in his eyes. "Ya meant it?"  
>Mo gave him a solemn smile and leaned forward again to place soft kisses on the bridge of his goggles and the tip of his nose until they found a pair of abused lips. MacCoy clumsily lowered his hands to just below the dip of his back when darker hands cupped his face. Hungry kisses rode down the side of his neck and he gasped sharply, hands willingly squeezing Mo's ass.<p>

Imagination turned the saggy shorts into a pair of bottom-clinging green shorts and a jersey purposely too big.  
>"Oh, Em."<br>Mo's insides curled in on each other, choking up raw emotion from his thoughts while he unconsciously bit harder on MacCoy's shoulder. The B-boy whined, complaining loudly, "Shit, Mo. Yer ruinin' the merchandise."  
>The covetous B-boy blinked away the green when he realized that he could no longer hear MacCoy's pleased moans or feel his hard body squirm into his, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The hands that were kneading his ass were now pushing at his hipbones.<p>

"I don't like that, Mo," he repeated.  
>Mo spat out a "Don't ya mean '<em>Em'<em>?"  
>MacCoy shrank back into the cushions unsure as to what he heard escape. Mo scowled and made a motion to crawl off MacCoy but the other hastily pinned his thighs down with his hands. They were already far into this and MacCoy had shaken off the guilt minutes ago, so there was no turning back now.<p>

"I'm sorry."

Mo glared at him, finding it hard to keep eye contact, his heart feeling as though it were tethered to his throat when the blond called out for the Latino's assistance.  
>"<em>Ange<em>, don't let him stop. _Please_."  
>Angel's grin seemed to detach his ears from his head. "I won't, <em>but<em> you have to make it up to me." MacCoy dumbly nodded his head in agreement until Mo interjected. "I ain't gonna stop."  
>Angel's brows rose in interest, though they weren't surprised and MacCoy eyed the uneasy prankster unsure of what his next move should be.<p>

Mo didn't meet his gaze, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back with his head tilted as if he were wearing his hoodie in public. The retro DJ sulked when he leaned forward to steal another kiss, the ones that Mo had been so desperately trying to obtain earlier, when they lacked the passion they contained before.

His patience was wearing thin when he palmed between the taller male's legs, but he waited until Mo's knees gave out. He lifted his hips, awkwardly grinding against the bottom of Mo's thigh. MacCoy let out a yelp of embarrassment, at missing his mark, and Mo's face screamed distraction—eyes trained on the old skool dancer while thinking about something else. His breath came out in hard puffs and transformed into gasps when the determined toprocker clutched at his trembling thighs and shot up once more. He missed blindly, but must've ground against his thigh again because he let out this guttural moan that had Mo wanting to make him see stars.

Mo swiftly swatted his hands away pinning them to the cushions above his head before pressing their torsos together and languidly rutting his lower half over 'Coy's crotch and lower stomach. Mo groaned like an animal, panting hard and staring at the Russian with wild eyes. MacCoy's head lolled to the left in the cushions and he drew out Mo's name, curling the moan into musical notes. That was all the motivation the darker male needed and soon his hands were all over his shoulders, clutching desperately, while his hips rocked a slow motion. Their lips smashed together in a slow dance, teeth occasionally scraping tongues and lips.

Angel's cock twitched further to life and he widened his legs, slipping his hand inside to pull his swollen member out. A low groan escaped his mouth; MacCoy's whimpering captured his undivided attention while he stroked himself. Golden eyes strolled towards Mo's half-lidded eyes and hanging mouth; he envied MacCoy more than Mo, with the darker male riding him like a horse to he was trying to break in—one hand gripping the cushion beside his head, fingers constantly searching for purpose but the constant movement not allowing it, while the other held their faces together.

Mo's eyes were fully closed now, his lips parting and closing quickly when they weren't forming _'MacCoy'_, while his head rolled to the side once, then twice. Angel had seen this look plenty of times before and he grasped the back cushion tightly, mouth letting loose strings of Spanish, while his mind surrendered to the memories.

Languorously tilting his head to look at Angel, body still rolling with the ebb and flow of MacCoy's less than experimental grinding, he tossed an appreciative smile his way that looked more like he wanted to fuck him more than anything else—his eyebrows quickly knit together while his lips pursed. Angel didn't give him a cocky smirk back, he was stuck between pleasure and a deeply pained expression and Mo briefly wondered why—this was his idea.

It finally clicked together when Angel's thumb slid over his nipple and moaned Mo's name softly. Angel wanted him tonight. Mo solemnly motioned towards MacCoy, not that Angel was the type to wait for permission anyhow.

Angel positioned himself next to MacCoy, knees pressing into the sides of the boy's thighs, with his erection still in his hand. "He likes getting a lil' rough, let him bite you."  
>MacCoy's mind was in a haze, feeling close to the edge, surprised he lasted this long and he gasped out a shaky, "<em>Wha<em>?"  
>Angel smirked, slick fisted and heavy hearted, and bit the Russian's lobe, and "I suppose you want a tip." A wet muscle slide across 'Coy's cheek, "If someone else hit it before and offers you advice on how to make you <em>both<em> feel good, take it."

MacCoy was hesitant but willing all the same—he wondered how it could feel any better than _this_. The goggled male peered at Mo with pleading eyes and his expression quickly changed to that of worry when the other hastily began pushing off his pants, yanking MacCoy's slim hips up to yank his sweatpants down too.

MacCoy pulled them back up, "Woah, man. No."  
>Mo's voice took on a pleading, desperate tone, "Please, I jus' wanna feel it."<br>Angel's teeth scraped across the point of his shoulder, leading the tongue that followed after, "Don't be a cockblock"  
>The blonde's scowl deepened at the Latino's teasing and relaxed back under his friend again in some odd form of one-upmanship.<p>

Loving digits dipped between each rib until they reached the hem on his boxers. Mo wrapped his fingers around MacCoy's cock first, stroking it to life, before it joined his own. The tagger leaned down to sample MacCoy's neck as he relaxed the tense muscles there, while He figured Angel over exaggerated when Mo pressed soft kisses to his pulse before rubbing his nose there. His mind quickly changed when he practically chomped down on his neck, squeezing their erections together harder as MacCoy whined. Recalling Angel's advice, he refrained from making noises and the older B-boy took notice.

"Don't ya like it?" he punctuated each word with an individual jerk of his hand.  
>"Too rough," he breathed, shaking his head, "Too rough fer me, Mo."<br>Mo frowned immediately, tenderly kissing his neck in apology. He was being selfish; MacCoy came first, both literally and figuratively—his body freezing against Mo's mid-tempo. Mo came after, pressing their foreheads together, his whole body jerking.

MacCoy's flushed face turned towards a panting Angel and he saw everything—his mouth slightly hanging open, tan hand slick with his own fluids and making the throatiest noises he'd ever heard. Blunt nails raked down his chest and he arched into the contact, eyes fluttering shut when lips touched his temple.  
>"Be willing to accommodate their needs," he whispered.<br>"Speaking of which, DJ MacCoy owes me."

The expression on his face was comical to say the least and he patted Mo's bare thighs for support, he wanted out of whatever deal he made because Angel's eyes were more than intimidating. The two B-boys shared a glance at each other and the darker man smiled.

"_I'll pay his tab."_


End file.
